


King Champagne The First

by El Staplador (elstaplador)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Champagne, F/F, Femslash, PWP, Threesome - F/F/F, Yuri!!! On Ice Ship Bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:40:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26938288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elstaplador/pseuds/El%20Staplador
Summary: It's Sara's idea, to celebrate Isabella's new-found freedom with a very large bottle of champagne. Mila's not sure about this, but finds herself open to conviction...
Relationships: Mila Babicheva/Sara Crispino/Isabella Yang
Kudos: 7
Collections: Rare Ships!!! on BINGO 2020





	King Champagne The First

Sara gets a huge bottle of champagne sent up to her room. Mila, who was seeing a Formula One driver at one point, is reminded of the ones that get shaken up and sprayed all over the winners at the podium ceremony, and of Sara's _Fledermaus_ exhibition skate.

Sara herself is sitting on the edge of the bed, legs crossed elegantly. ‘It’s a celebration,’ she says.

Isabella, who has sat down awkwardly next to her, doesn’t look convinced. Mila says, nevertheless, ‘Celebrating your freedom!’

Isabella bursts into tears, confirming Mila’s misgivings, but they’re kind of committed now. Mila fills the three flutes and hands them out, while Sara pats Isabella on the shoulder.

  
It had been meant to be a date, or as close to one as it was possible to get in the middle of a competition. Time together was precious. Time alone together, even more so. They’d decided not to watch the men’s free skate, instead taking a long walk around the edge of the harbour, hand in hand.

Mila had assumed that they’d go straight up to Sara’s room when they got in, maybe order something approved from room service... later.

But there was Isabella, in the bar, nursing a long drink, and she’d looked so sad, so lost, so alone, and the two of them had looked at each other, and had a conversation in a language that needed no words, and come to a swift agreement.

Sara had been the one to approach her, concerned yet diffident, signalling a take-it-or-leave-it sympathy. _If you’d rather be alone_ , her shoulders said, _we’ll leave you alone_. But Isabella had chosen to take it, and Sara sat down on a stool opposite her. Mila watched from a distance until Sara beckoned her over.

‘We should get a drink,’ Mila said.

Isabella had shaken her head. ‘They’ll be back soon. JJ...’

Mila glanced at the big mirrored clock over the bar. There was probably a good hour left of the men’s free skate, but JJ was a good three groups earlier than he should have been, and unless everyone else had a very bad day he wouldn’t be waiting around to get onto the podium. He could very well be back soon.

Sara had said, ‘Then let’s go up to my room.’

  
Upstairs, lubricated by champagne, it doesn’t take too long to get the story out of her, and it’s not a surprising one when they do. JJ Leroy had a very public meltdown after his short programme; it seems he had a private one too.

‘So it’s over,’ Isabella says. ‘He doesn’t want to see me again. He says he doesn’t deserve to be with me, but what kind of bullshit is that?’

‘And I bet he wasn’t even a good lay,’ Sara says. ‘So few men are.’

Isabella hides her blushing face in her hands.

Mila frowns at Sara over Isabella’s head. Sara often says that kind of thing to wind Michele up; it isn’t really necessary here. ‘It’s OK,’ she says kindly. ‘We won’t ask for the details.’

Isabella mumbles something.

‘I didn’t catch that,’ says Sara.

Isabella says, louder, ‘I don’t know. We were waiting.’

‘Waiting?’

‘Until we got married.’

‘Ah,’ Sara says.

Now she thinks about it, Mila remembers Yura making some crude comments after reading some interview with JJ.

‘I wanted to,’ Isabella says, defensively.

‘To wait?’

‘No!’

Sara pours out more champagne. Mila thinks this is sensible. This conversation could do with something to take the awkward edge off it.

‘And did you tell him that?’

Isabella swigs hers. ‘Yes. But he just... wouldn’t. And when I suggested we... Well, he didn’t want to. It was like sex was a prize and he hadn’t won it.’ She throws the tissue at the bin and pulls another one from the packet. ‘So I said, why didn’t we get married, and he didn’t want to do that, either, and it wasn’t because he didn’t want to, it was because he thought he didn’t deserve it. And it built up and built up until we couldn’t talk about it at all. And now it’s this huge thing and even if he showed up here and wanted to do it, I don’t think I could stop myself screaming at him.’

‘And he doesn’t always deal very well with pressure,’ Mila says, thoughtfully.

‘I don’t even want him to!’ Isabella says. ‘I don’t care what he thinks or what he does!’ She starts sniffling again.

‘Honestly,’ says Mila, ‘it’s really not worth all this.’

‘You say that!’ Sara shoots her a fiery look that’s half indignant, half teasing, and all provocative. If they were alone, Mila would be in her lap by now, naked. She bites her lip at the thought of it.

‘Oh,’ Isabella says, startled out of her tears. She looks mortified. ‘Oh God. You two... You were going to...’

‘We still can,’ Sara says, and Mila makes a mental note to write down the name of the champagne. ‘Join us?’

For a moment, Mila thinks that Isabella’s going to make her excuses and leave, or maybe not even make her excuses. ‘You don’t have to,’ she says. ‘We can just finish the bottle.’ She surprises herself when she adds, ‘Or, if you liked, you could stay and watch us. Then it might not be such a big deal, when you... You know.’

Sara looks slightly shocked by that one. Serve her right, Mila thinks. But she likes the idea, too: she’s breathing a little bit quicker. Mila thought she would.

Isabella looks from Sara to Mila, and from Mila to Sara. Her eyes get bigger and bigger. ‘Yes,’ she says, quickly. ‘Yes. Why not?’

‘Which?’ Sara demands.

‘I think,’ Isabella says carefully, ‘I’d rather watch you.’

Mila shivers. This is new for both of them – for all of them. She hadn’t expected Isabella to take her up on this. Oh, but she’s glad she did. Slowly, deliberately, she drains her glass, puts it on the little round table, out of the way. Sara does the same, then gets to her feet, taking Mila by the hand to pull her up too.

Even this is new. She and Sara don’t usually kiss in public, not unless one or both of them is in a very combative mood, because some fan or other would get a photo, and it’s not worth the hassle that Sara would get from her brother. And they certainly don’t kiss like _this_ in public, lips, teeth, tongues; fingers fumbling with buttons, hands sliding everywhere. She gets Sara’s blouse off and she can feel Isabella’s gaze on her back. It burns deliciously.

Sara moves backwards until she’s sitting on the chest of drawers. She spreads her knees so that Mila can come right up close to her, wraps her legs and arms around her, keeps her where she wants her while she pulls off her hoodie and her T-shirt, unhooks her bra and pushes the straps from her shoulders.

Even from across the room, she thinks she can hear the catch in Isabella’s breathing. She frees her arms, wraps them around Sara’s neck, and pulls her down to kiss her, long and slow. And now Sara’s reaching down to unbutton her jeans, push them down. Mila has to help; her knickers catch on the way. What the hell, she thinks, and steps out of them all together.

‘Wait,’ Sara murmurs.

‘ _What?_ ’

‘Isabella can’t see.’

Mila turns in her arms, deliberately slowly.

Isabella’s sitting on the edge of the bed, hands folded in her lap, ankles crossed. She looks impossibly demure; she might be sitting for a portrait photograph if it weren’t for the fact that she’s kicked her shoes off. But when she looks up to meet Mila’s gaze there’s a hunger there that’s intoxicating.

Mila hears Sara’s low chuckle in her ear, and she’s turned on like never before in her life. She’s naked, on display; this is the best spreadeagle she’s ever performed. And now – holy fuck – Sara’s starting to move, her left hand drifting downwards, her right hand across, and she’s stroking, caressing, rubbing, her thumb’s found Mila’s clit, her fingers are feather-light over Mila’s nipples, and all the while she’s whispering in Mila’s ear, soft enough that Isabella won’t be able to hear, or nipping at the lobe...

Mila glances across the room. There’s a flush on Isabella’s face; maybe she’s a little short of breath, or maybe that’s just Mila... Mila shuts her eyes. Her legs tremble; she has to grab the edge of the chest of drawers to keep her balance. Sara grips her a little tighter, supports her with those lean, strong, arms, and Mila leans back into her, her whole body shaking and jerking.

‘Your turn,’ Mila gasps, as soon as she physically can. She turns back around to grab a handful of Sara’s hair and to pull her closer to kiss her. Sara slides down from the side and into Mila’s arms, and Mila slides her hand between them to unzip Sara’s trousers. She’s just about managed to get them undone and off her by the time they’re back at the bed: but this isn’t quite what she wants. She turns them around, so that Sara’s the one who feels the mattress behind her and sits, then, understanding, moves further up the bed, lies back. _This_ is what Mila wants: Sara spread out beneath her. No. Next to her. She lies down next to Sara, on her side, leans over her to kiss her slow and deep before wriggling her left arm underneath her.

She nods at Isabella: an invitation. Isabella shuffles backwards to sit with her back against the headboard, and smiles as if to say that she’s ready.

Sara’s more than ready: she whimpers impatiently. Mila puts the forefinger of her left hand to Sara’s lips as if to hush her, and is met by her eager tongue. Then she sets out to return everything Sara’s given her, with interest. She reaches her right hand under the hem of Sara’s knickers, wonders whether she should have taken them off, too, decides not to worry about it. She’s got enough to think about, with her mouth at one of Sara’s nipples, and her left hand at the other, and her right hand working her way inside her, sliding, her thumb circling in the beautiful wetness of her...

Sara cries out, contracting wonderfully against Mila’s hand, and Mila sucks hard at her nipple until she laughs and bats her away.

Sated, Sara darts a look at Isabella that’s all provocation. Irresistible, Mila thinks. She isn’t surprised when Isabella can’t resist it, and says, very politely, ‘Would you mind if I, er, joined you?’

Mila looks at Sara. Sara looks at Mila. They both know what the answer is.

They take their time undressing her, Sara unbuttoning her cardigan, unzipping her dress, Mila working her tights down. They’re in no hurry, now. Mila can see that Isabella wants more, now, but she’s not going to ask for it, and she acknowledges it with a kiss pressed to Isabella’s hip when she slides her knickers down.

Meanwhile, Sara’s already got rid of Isabella’s bra. Mila sits back on her heels to look at them. Sara’s cheek is pressed close to Isabella’s, and their dark hair mingles. She’s never seen anything quite so lovely as Sara’s tanned, toned, arm against Isabella’s pale breasts, her fingertips gently teasing first one nipple and then the other up to stand proud.

Mila can’t stop herself from leaning forward to lick them, her tongue and Sara’s fingers and Isabella’s nipple all meeting at a single point, one tiny cluster of intense sensation.

Isabella gasps.

‘Tell us,’ Sara says sternly, ‘tell us the instant you want us to stop.’

She nibbles at Isabella’s ear: another gasp.

Mila leaves a kiss on each nipple, and then sucks at Sara’s finger and thumb until she moans.

She kisses her way down the centre line of Isabella’s body, placing her hands flat against her sides, spreading her fingers. She pauses, feeling the bend of Isabella’s knee pressed against her ribs, the tensed muscle in her thigh. Isabella’s holding her breath, knowing what’s coming.

The ‘ _Oh!_ ’ is a small victory. But it’s only the beginning.

Sara’s fingers are busy, no doubt. Mila’s tongue is busier, swirling, licking, probing, coaxing. It’s marvellous, disorientating, the unknown smell and taste of Isabella against the dear, long-familiar sound of Sara’s voice.

‘Oh God,’ Isabella says suddenly. ‘ _Oh..._ ’ And then she’s quiet, except for her quick, sobbing, catching, breath, and she shudders, and lies still, except for the leaping pulse at her groin.

Mila looks up, and sees Sara look down. They share a glance of pure triumph.

Isabella opens her eyes. ‘Wow. Thank you.’

Sara says, ‘You’re welcome.’

Mila laughs, and stretches her jaw. It becomes a yawn. She’s always out like a light after sex; distantly, she hears Sara explaining this to Isabella...

  
She awakes to the sound of Sara’s voice, sleepily murmuring words of reassurance. There’s a cold bluish light coming from the air conditioning control panel. After a moment, she identifies the little snuffling sounds as Isabella’s suppressed sobs.

She turns over to face them. Sara has Isabella’s face pressed into her shoulder, and she’s stroking her hair.

Isabella rolls in Sara’s arms to see Mila. ‘Oh, no. Now I’ve woken both of you. I’m sorry.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Mila says. There’s a tear glistening on the side of Isabella’s nose. She leans forward to wipe it away.

Isabella’s lips are slightly parted. There’s another tear. Mila kisses this one, and then, when Isabella sighs, kisses her mouth, too. Isabella seems surprised, but when Mila breaks away she reinstates the kiss, insistent, searching, and it’s hard not to respond. She can feel Sara’s arms around Isabella, can feel the moment when comfort becomes caress.

Sara hesitates, then runs her free hand along the length of Isabella’s body. Isabella’s breath hitches. Sara’s waiting for some indication that this is the right thing to do. Mila wants to throw herself into the pair of them, to force this to happen, but she won’t, not until...

‘Yes,’ Isabella whispers, and Sara moves her hand to between Isabella’s legs. It’s tantalisingly close, so close that Mila could rub herself against the knuckles and come just like that, but she doesn’t; she doesn’t want to indulge herself at the expense of Isabella held between them, bucking and shaking as Sara keeps her just on the edge of orgasm, and at last relents.

Isabella’s noisier this time, uses some words that Mila doesn’t recognise but whose meaning she can guess. And then she isn’t speaking, she’s kissing Mila, she’s all lips and tongue and teeth, and Mila’s so close, she’s so close – but Isabella’s pulling away.

‘Thank you,’ she says. And then, ‘Now what? Can I...? Would either of you...?’

‘Let Sara see to herself,’ Mila says heroically. ‘It’s worth watching.’ Her eyes are used to the dark by now. Sara meets her eye and gazes back, smouldering. Mila catches her breath, licks her lips. She gathers up the duvet and pushes it off the side of the bed.

Sara spreads herself out, starred across the pale sheets. Mila kneels up, sits back on her knees. She takes Isabella’s hand and pulls her up to a seated position.

‘The rules of this are that I watch. And I don’t touch until I can’t bear not to.’ Even explaining it arouses her.

‘ _Oh_ ,’ Isabella breathes. And she takes Mila’s hands and brings them behind her back, gripping her wrists

Sara chuckles, low, and Mila’s tempted to break free then and there, but she doesn’t want to, really; it feels too good to have those determined hands circling her wrists.

Sara looks her full in the eye, and brings her hand up to her own mouth, and licks the length of the forefinger of her right hand.

Mila tenses as if Sara had touched her. She’d like Isabella’s hands on her. She could ask her; or she could break her grip and grab her hands and drag them all over herself. Isabella would want it. And it would be good.

But knowing that she could, and not doing it, is better, and watching Sara’s left hand caressing her own breasts and pinch her own nipples, harder than Mila would do it, and watching her right hand moving between her legs, faster and faster, is better still. And watching her her eyelids flicker and her hips rise and fall and hearing her breath come faster and faster and then her soft cry -

Mila jerks forward, and feels the strong warm circles of Isabella’s hands around her wrists, holding her back. It’s almost too good. She doesn’t know whether her moan is pleasure or frustration.

Sara looks up at Mila, her smile taunting, her gaze appraising.

‘Shall I?’ Isabella murmurs. She’s sounding more confident.

‘Yes. Please.’ Mila couldn’t have said anything else.

Isabella brings Mila’s hands together so that she can hold them both in one of hers. The restraint is even more for show than it was before, but Mila wouldn’t dream of breaking loose. She throws her head back. Isabella’s fingers are inexpert, too tentative, but it doesn’t matter: Mila meets her eagerly, enjoying the feel of Isabella’s breasts against her back, Isabella’s hand around her wrists, Isabella’s fingers on her clit... Sara herself rolls onto her side to watch, and it’s so, so good to have Sara’s eyes on her while Isabella’s biting her shoulder – and then Sara kneels up, too, and leans a little way forward so that she can kiss Mila while Isabella brings her to what might be the best orgasm of her life.

  
The next morning, there are only two of them in the bed. Mila enjoys every moment of their languorous lovemaking, whispers things to Sara that she wouldn’t have said with Isabella in the room, promises: _next time, next time_. In the bed, in the shower, watching themselves in the bathroom mirror: they won’t see each other again until Europeans, and they’re going to make the most of every second.

They go down to breakfast together, sit at a little round table with only two places set, nudge each other’s feet under the cloth.

It’s not until they leave that they see Isabella, seated at a table with JJ and his parents. It has the air of a council of war rather than a breakfast: somebody, maybe more than one of them, thinks there’s a situation to be saved. Sara strides on by, ostentatiously giving them their privacy, but Mila catches Isabella’s eye. She isn’t sure what she expected to see there: conspiracy? A plea for secrecy? But it’s neither of those: just an enigmatic little smile that acknowledges nothing and denies nothing.

It takes her a little while to work out what she’s feeling. Then she realises: it’s _relief_. Whatever happens, Isabella’s going to be fine. And there’s still half an hour before either of them needs to be at the bus, for the rehearsal. Humming under her breath, ' _Die Majestät wird anerkannt rings im Land, Jubelnd wird Champagner der Erste sie genannt,_ ' she quickens her step to catch up with Sara.


End file.
